


Everything Here is Just Ducky

by Ragazza_Guasto



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Crack, Domestic Fluff, First Kiss, Humor, Kinda, M/M, Obligatory Bee Plush, POV John Watson, Parentlock, Revelations, Walks In The Park
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-18
Updated: 2017-03-18
Packaged: 2018-10-07 06:54:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,055
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10354623
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ragazza_Guasto/pseuds/Ragazza_Guasto
Summary: Sherlock handed Rosie her bee, acknowledged John’s inability to work the pram without comment and, again, together they managed to get everything settled for a day out. They’d always been a well-oiled machine and he guessed parenting had just become another thing they were on the same page with, alongside crime-fighting and puzzle-solving.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Look, I hate that Mary's balloon full of guns and cocaine turned out to be an actual child. I HATE it. But, as they say, it it what it is. For some reason this little blip of a thing popped fully formed into my head despite that, so, uh, here we are. Enjoy this barely edited, unbeta'd, domestic fluff-o-rama.

“I tried to persuade her otherwise but she seems to prefer the duckling book to the gingerbread witch so I thought…”

 

John let Sherlock’s sonorous baritone blend seamlessly with the hum of the microwave, making the perfect white noise to compliment the hypnotic rotation of his bacon butty on the tray. It was easy to space out given the late night he’d had with Sherlock and a case coupled with the early morning scheduled at the office; between the two he’d barely managed four and half hours of sleep. He should be grateful really, it was more than he’d got during the early days, when Rosie’d just come home from hospital. 

 

John caught the uptick of Sherlock’s last sentence, signalling a question, and John responded with the universal grunt for ‘Didn’t get any of that, please repeat the question,’ as he removed breakfast from the microwave. 

 

“I said, I thought it would be a good learning experience for Watson, the Park. Would you mind if I took her this morning?”

 

“Why would I care?” He asked, mouth full.

 

Sherlock shifted Rosie where she sat on his hip and looked perplexed. “I’m asking permission… Because you’re her father.”

 

He bit the end of his tongue, sharp enough to sting. Because the response on the end of said tongue had been,  _ ‘So’re you.’ _

 

It was like taking a one-two punch to the head and gut. 

 

Because all of a sudden, it was true. No, not all of a sudden, it had just occurred to John how true it had been for months now. He looked at Sherlock - holding his daughter, so bloody natural, as she tugged at his hair - and felt his cheek twitch. Sherlock didn’t even reach up to stop her, though it obviously stung, given the occasional wince he displayed. 

 

“Are you all right?” Sherlock asked. It had been at least a full minute since he’d asked John his initial question and here John was, staring at the two of them like a besotted idiot.

 

He cleared his throat and made a show of finishing his leftover sandwich. “Yeah, no, it’s fine. The park, great idea. She’ll love that.”

 

“Excellent. I need to find her mittens and hat, it’s getting a bit chilly out and we don’t want her little fingers and ears getting cold, do we?” He addressed Rosie. “No, we don’t.” 

 

John was near apoplectic that he had to work today. He needed to go to the park with them, absolutely _had_ to watch Sherlock walk with their daughter to the lake, pointing out the different types of waterfowl. Why had they never done that before? What was wrong with John that he was just now thinking of these things in term of  _ them? _

 

“I, uh, I think I might actually, mmm.” He fidgeted with the leftover wrapper, cursing his awkwardness. He hadn’t felt this uncertain since before… well Before.

 

“Yes, John?” Sherlock called from around the corner, where he’d moved to look for Rosie’s outerwear. 

 

“I might actually call the office and see if I can get out of my shift.”

 

Sherlock poked his head around the corner. “Are you feeling sick? I think Watson’s thermometer is still in her overnight bag.” He marched across the room, Rosie still in tow, and bent to dig one-handed through the bag.

 

“No,” John said with a chuckle, “I’m not sick, I just. I’d like to go with you. If that’s all right?”

 

Sherlock straightened and turned slowly. He was definitely confused, going by the marred line of his brows. He looked John up and down, trying to find John’s reasoning. 

 

He hoped  _ ‘Just realized we’re a family and I want to start acting like it’ _ wasn’t written clear across his face. It was one thing to think it to himself, another to foster the idea on a possibly unwilling subject. Though Sherlock couldn’t be a better parent if Rosie had come from his own body. What a thought! But it was true, he loved Rosie, that much was obvious to anyone who saw them together. John couldn’t ask for a better partner. And on the tail of that thought came The Forbidden Emotion. John should have realized that it would come barrelling in next but he’d been so shocked by the Sherlock is Rosie’s Dad Too that he hadn’t prepared. 

 

“You don’t think we should go out alone?” Sherlock softly asked, derailing John’s thought process.

 

“No! Christ, Sherlock,” John exclaimed in horror, “no, that’s the furthest thing from the truth.” He took a tentative step into the room, heart pounding. “Honestly, I just think a day in the park,”  _ with you two, my two favourite people in the universe _ , “sounds lovely. I want to go.”

 

He twisted at the hip, bouncing Rosie lightly, as he gauged John’s sincerity. “Well, of course,” he eventually said. “That would be… Yes.”

 

John grinned, before turning away to hide his pleasure. It was idiotic, like he needed Sherlock’s permission to accompany them to look at ducks. But dammit if he wasn’t over the moon. 

 

“I’ll call Dr. Gupta now then. I’m sure she won’t mind if I beg off this once. You can finish getting her ready and we’ll go.”

 

He walked past to grab his mobile from the coffee table and Sherlock followed suite, gabbing to Rosie as they gathered items. 

 

“Did you hear that, Watson? Your Da is skipping that boring clinic to come with us today.”

 

Rosie clapped and shouted, “No!” happily. 

 

“And we’ll practise naming the local fauna. If you’re very good maybe we’ll visit the zoo too. Exotic animals next, what do you think of that?”

 

“No!” 

 

“It’s a date then,” Sherlock replied. 

 

John finished his call and mentally flagellated himself for not registering these exchanges for what they were before. The absurd back and forth between them was nothing new, John had just never acknowledged the significance before. Now that it was registering on a conscious level he couldn’t ignore it. 

 

“Ready?” Sherlock asked, still wrestling with Rosie and her mittens. 

 

“Here.” John squatted down to their level and helped hold her still. Together they wrangled her into cold weather gear. “I’ve got her, go ahead and get the pram set up outside. Don’t forget Buzzbee.”

 

Sherlock handed Rosie her bee, acknowledged John’s inability to work the pram without comment and, again, together they managed to get everything settled for a day out. They’d always been a well-oiled machine and he guessed parenting had just become another thing they were on the same page with, alongside crime-fighting and puzzle-solving. 

 

They strolled from Baker Street, skirting the early morning foot traffic, and chatted stupidly about the weather, bright but chilly, until reaching the park. At one point Rosie called out “Lala!” and reached her little woolly hand out of the pram. 

 

“She wants you to hold her hand,” John informed Sherlock, who complied without missing a beat. 

 

“It looks like the geese are out towards the east. Let’s swing by the cafe first and grab something warm.” Sherlock nodded to the nearest shop.

 

“Good idea. Rosie, you want a hot choccy?” 

 

The brat bounced in her seat like a trapped animal, screeching, “Da! No, no no no no! Choccy!”

 

Sherlock snorted as John attempted to keep her from launching herself onto the pavement. 

 

“I can’t even imagine what you were like at this age,” he quipped, eyes glittering. 

 

“Me?” John asked incredulously. “I was an angel. It was Harry who was the brat.”

 

“Mmm, I’m sure. Vodka in her sippy cup, was it?”

 

John looked up from under his eyelashes.  _ That’s not funny _ , he tried to say but of course his quirked lips didn’t obey. Sherlock preened like the arsehole he knew he was.

 

“She gets all this from you. Of the two of us, who throws the most tantrums?”

 

Sherlock was mid-excuse when they reached the cafe window. The barista opened the sliding glass and John caught sight of her ‘aren’t you three adorable’ grin. Instead of feeling perturbed he felt proud.  _ Yes, aren’t we just the height of cuteness? _

 

“What can I get you?” She asked, waving fingers at a screaming Rosie. 

 

“Two Earl Grey’s, one with two sugars please, and a small hot chocolate for the banshee.”

 

“Da, choccy!” 

 

“Yes, Rosie, choccy, settle down please.”

 

“Will that be all?”

 

Sherlock leaned into John’s space and added a bag of the salt and vinegar crisps, pulling his wallet out before John could get to his. When he tried to insist Sherlock reminded him that he was skipping work and couldn’t afford it. John nudged him and threw the bag of crisps at his chest after the barista handed them over. 

 

“How old is she?” She asked with a smile as she slipped the lids on their cups. 

 

“Not quite eighteen months,” John answered. “She’ll be starting Cambridge Law next month.”

 

The barista laughed. “I bet. She’s certainly got the manipulation part down, eh?” She said, nodding to Rosie’s outstretched arms, her little mittened hands grasping at air. 

 

“We’re taking her to see the waterfowl,” Sherlock butted in, spewing potato bits onto his scarf. “It will be very informative.”

 

“What a lucky duck,” she quipped and handed over the carrier holding their paper cups.

 

Completely serious, Sherlock asked, “Her or the waterfowl?”  

 

“Thank you,” John said and took their drinks, nudging Sherlock to push the pram. 

 

“Lala!” Rosie screamed when Sherlock disappeared.  They had to switch so she could keep him in her sights. 

 

“She likes you best, you know.” John had to point it out, it was glaringly obvious who she favoured. 

 

“Nonsense, she just knows you’re always there when the pram is going.”

 

 _No, she likes you best,_ he wanted to argue. _You’re the fun one._ _The one who does the best voices during storytime, the one who shows up in the night when she’s as bored as you are, the one who passes her extra biscuits when no one is looking._

 

He kept his mouth shut until they reached the bench to sit and distributed drinks accordingly. They had to pour Rosie’s into her sippy cup and monitor her consumption but she was well versed in sippy cup etiquette now and handled herself well. It was pointless attempting to show her the ducks and geese while she was occupied with her chocolate, so they waited until she was done, unbuckling her from the pram to waddle slowly toward the water. She tottered in her puffy coat, looking like a marshmallow with legs. It was probably overkill but if anything it was just extra padding for when her legs buckled and she fell down. She was proud and hated to hold either of their hands when she was walking. 

 

“Don’t let her go arse over tea kettle into the lake please,” John told Sherlock while he stood back to finish his tea next to the closest tree. 

 

Sherlock didn’t respond but to glare, ‘obviously’ going unsaid. 

 

He watched them, Sherlock pointing to the birds that floated nearer, assuming there was crumbs to be had, and smiled when Rosie squealed, “Ducky!” It was worth pushing his workload off onto Dr. Gupta. It was worth a lot more than that. John could barely contain the sudden rush of love he felt for the two of them. If nothing else came of moving back into Baker Street, it was enough. Sherlock was helping him raise his daughter and along the way, at some point, she had become his too. 

 

“Da, ducky!” Rosie called to him, jumping and pointing, excited to share the discovery. John went to join them, happy to see he still ranked high enough to warrant inclusion. He crouched down with them, despite the twinge in his old bones. He listened to Sherlock explain each breed, facts that a toddler could care less about. It didn’t matter if she’d never retain anything he said, all that mattered was his attention and his focus on her and the fun of the floating duckies. John was near tears watching as Sherlock reached out to tug her pant legs down over her boots where they’d rode up, still telling her of the eggs likely nestled in the tall grass, waiting to hatch in a few weeks time. 

 

“Why do you do it?” John asked without consulting his brain.

 

“Do what?” He responded, unconcerned, still fussing with Rosie’s pants while she danced out of his way.

 

In for a penny…

 

“You took us in when it was obvious I couldn’t do this alone and you funneled every bit of your considerable power into being the best parent I’ve ever seen.” He fumbled for a moment before settling for a lame, “Why?”

 

While he’d been sticking his foot in it, Sherlock froze completely. He even went a bit green around the gills, if John was seeing correctly, which he was because he was nearly rooted to the spot, unable to look away. Sherlock seemed equally interested in Rosie’s daisy spotted pant leg. When he finally looked up it was with fear, like he’d been caught doing something wrong. 

 

“I’m sorry,” Sherlock said, soft enough that John barely heard him. He rose up, keeping a hand on Rosie’s head. 

 

John stood too. “You’ve nothing to be sorry for,” he insisted. “I just- You’re so good with her, Sherlock, so amazing. You’re everything to her. I just want to know if… Is this okay? I know you can’t have expected to be a father. I just want to know that this is okay.”

 

Sherlock looked at everything but John. He was speechless it seemed. Moments passed before he responded. 

 

“I’m not her father.”

 

Pain lanced John’s chest and he nearly choked on the words bursting from his throat.

 

“Yes you are!” He exclaimed with an incredulous, humourless laugh. “Christ, how much  _ more  _ could you be her father?!” 

 

“Adoption papers for one.” Sherlock’s mouth snapped shut. He looked like he’d like to triple flip into the lake and disappear. 

 

Captain Watson appeared, standing tall. “Why do you do it, Sherlock?”

 

The Calculating Detective parried. “She provides an excellent opportunity to study human development.”

 

John’s lip quirked. If he’d said that to Sgt. Donovan, she would have believed it. John, not so much. 

 

“Nice try. Raspberries on tummies says otherwise. Making Buzzbee fly into her crib to make her laugh says otherwise. Falling asleep watching Peppa Pig says otherwise.”

 

Sherlock looked ready to go wobbly. “What do you want? For me to say I enjoy her company? Yes, she’s more entertaining than Anderson in a deerstalker taking notes.”

 

Captain Watson doubled down. “Why do you do it?”

 

“Because she’s yours!” Sherlock snapped. “All right? Are you happy? Because she’s a part of you and you let me teach her and she thinks I’m brilliant and against all reason you both trust me.”

 

Rosie looked up from ripping up chunks of grass. “Lala?”

 

Sherlock rarely rose his voice around her. It was a testament to his parental merit that she wasn’t scared, just curious. John went to her anyway, mostly as an excuse to get closer to Sherlock without spooking him into the lake. 

 

“Did Lala yell at Daddy?” He asked his daughter. She laughed and smacked him in the face with her dirty fist. He grinned at her and scrubbed at the mess she likely left behind. “What did you do with your mittens, brat?”

 

“She tossed one to the ducks.” Sherlock bent casually to retrieve the other where it lay under the shredded grass. 

 

“Of course she did.” John kissed her cheek. “Well, c’mon then, let’s pack it up and go home for lunch. Hopefully we can get you settled for nap time. Lala and I have much to discuss.”

 

“We do?”

 

...In for a pound.

 

“Oh, yes. Like how it’s high time Rosie had her own room.”

 

It didn’t take long for a genius to puzzle that one out. He did, and then he tripped over the loose sippy cup and nearly brained himself on the park bench.

 

Rosie laughed and clapped along. “Lala! Ouchie!”

 

John set her down next to Sherlock and crouched down to look over Sherlock’s head, despite the fact that they both knew he was fine. Sherlock just stared up at John, wide-eye and, dare John say, hopeful.

 

“John?” He whispered. 

 

Curls slipped between John’s fingers. He let Sherlock read whatever he needed to to understand. 

 

“There are certain possibilities I’m entertaining right now, John, and unless you mean adding another room upstairs-”

 

“Which I absolutely do not.”

 

“Then you mean…”

 

“That I’m entertaining certain possibilities as well.” Sherlock went four different shades of red at that. “If you’re ameable.”

 

They traded seconds worth of glances at each other’s mouths, incredulous and heated. It was enough, they managed to enter each other’s space without seeming to move. 

 

They also managed to share their first kiss for approximately three seconds before John took an empty sippy cup to the back of the head.

 

“Choccy!” Rosie demanded. 

 

He sighed, drawing away to find Sherlock eyes still closed and frozen stiff. Not in a fun way. In a ‘whoops I broke him’ kinda way. 

 

“Okay, brat. I’m going to remember this moment. Wait till you bring your first date home. They’re in for it.”

 

He gathered her up, strapping her into the seat, distracting her with Buzzbee so she’d forget she wasn’t getting anymore hot chocolate. Sherlock remained on the ground throughout. John thought about leaving him but decided against it. A particularly chilly breeze had kicked up.

 

“Sherlock. Oi, madman, you’re sitting in mud. Sherlock,” he sang, patting the man on both cheeks. “C’mon, if we get Rosie to sleep we can pick up where we left off before she brained me.”

 

Sherlock’s eyes sprang open. 

 

“Sex!”

 

John burst out laughing, glancing around at the passing crowd who were starting to notice the exchange. 

 

“Possibly, if you get your arse up off the ground and come home with us.”

 

The scramble Sherlock managed from the prone position was impressive. 

 

“That’s flattering.”

 

“Let’s go, John!” Sherlock was already half way down the walkway by the time John stood from his crouch.

 

“Don’t worry, I’ll grab our daughter!” He shouted back with a smile. “What would you like for lunch, darling? I’ll let you eat an entire cake if you sleep for a solid two hours.”

 

“Choccy!” 

 

“Deal.”

  
  
  
  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> I don't know. Good? Bad? I've never seen a baby before so who knows how they work in real life. Can they get two idiots to express their feelings? Anyone know any matchmaking babies? Let me know in the comments.
> 
> J/K I've seen babies before. That's how I know they're evil.
> 
> You can find me on [Tumblr](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/artisanbloodbank) if you desire.


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